Doorways
by Sc00ter
Summary: CJ/Ron It’s never a good sign when Ron Butterfield is standing in your doorway.


Title: Doorways  
  
Author: Scooter  
  
Email: sekent_76@yahoo.com  
  
Rating: PG-13, I think. Mostly PG, a couple of steamier moments.  
  
Category: C.J./Ron  
  
Disclaimer: Not sure who owns it anymore except that it's not me.  
  
Summary: It's never a good sign when Ron Butterfield is standing in your doorway.  
  
Spoilers: Through Season 4  
  
Archive: Please let me know where, and keep my name attached.  
  
Note: Inspiration for this piece is the observation of many West Wing fans that if Ron Butterfield is standing in your doorway, it's probably not going to be a good day. I thought I'd play with that a bit. This is a series of scenes with Ron standing in various doorways.  
  
Feedback: would be lovely.  
  
~*~  
  
Late April, 2002:  
  
She stops short when she sees him in her doorway and takes a breath. It was bad enough that Josh made her talk to Frank Tenney yesterday, but now Ron Butterfield is here to fan the flames. Squaring her shoulders, she brushes past him into her office.  
  
"C.J., Frank Tenney came to see me this morning." Ron looks slightly more serious than usual, if that's possible. Briefly, C.J. wonders if Ron even knows how to smile.  
  
~*~  
  
May, 2002:  
  
Controlling his own emotions, Ron stands at the entrance to the performance hall. He can see C.J. sitting a few rows down, completely oblivious, and his stomach churns as he mentally rehearses what he's going to say. A robbery, gunshots, Simon's dead. He'd never pictured himself having to deliver this sort of news to anyone. He knows this will devastate her.  
  
Descending the steps, he places a hand on her shoulder, indicating with a cock of his head that she should come with him. Out in the hall, he starts speaking, watching her face go from calm to confused, and he can pinpoint the moment when his words register by the shock that splatters across her face.  
  
"I have to go," she sputters, and he steps away, watching quietly as she almost runs from the theatre. Briefly, at the theatre entrance, her silhouette is illuminated by the streetlights as she stumbles, grabbing the doorframe for momentary and inadequate support.  
  
He doesn't follow. There are really no words of comfort that he can provide to himself, much less her.  
  
~*~  
  
December, 2002:  
  
C.J. looks up at the knock and smiles lightly at the agent standing at the threshold. "Hey, Ron."  
  
Ron steps into her office slowly. "I got a message that you wanted to see me?" It was unusual that Senior Staff visited the Secret Service offices at all, but Agent McNamara had told him that C.J. had come down to the office looking for him.  
  
Throwing down the briefing folder, C.J. stands up and walks around her desk. "Yes, I did. Please, come in, and you can close the door behind you." She's a bit nervous about this, but it seems the right thing to do and the right time to do it. It's almost a new year; time to face some old shadows.  
  
She takes a deep breath, as Ron eases the door closed and resumes his impassive position in front of her. "Ron, listen, I owe you an apology."  
  
This he wasn't expecting, though he's well trained enough to not register surprise beyond a slight turn of his head. "For?"  
  
"I've been avoiding you since Simon died, and it's not fair. It wasn't your fault, and I shouldn't have blamed the messenger."  
  
Ron shifts slightly, choosing his words carefully. He could count on one hand the number of words she'd said to him over the past six months, and he'd noticed her careful evasion of him in hallways. He knew why, too, but he was too much of a professional to take it personally. "C.J., you don't have to apologize."  
  
"I-"  
  
"It was part of the healing process. Of course you would try to avoid contact. It's not unusual." And it's not. Various training sessions and psychological profiling meetings have taught him the many ways that people grieve.  
  
"But that doesn't make it right." She's looking him straight in the eye. "I'm sorry."  
  
He nods. "Thank you." Turning to go, he places one hand on the doorknob and then pauses, glancing back at her. "Are you doing better?" He thinks she must be if she's having this conversation, but he wants to see how she'll respond.  
  
It's with a small smile and a glance at the floor before she meets his gaze again. "Yeah, Ron, I am. Thanks." Another pauses. "Are *you* doing better?"  
  
Ron considers the question for a moment and opens the door. "Yes."  
  
~*~  
  
February, 2003  
  
From his spot by the Mural Room entryway, he has the perfect view of C.J. performing "The Jackal". Everyone has been working hard lately, and with the Inauguration behind them and the situation in Kundu finally settling down, the staff is kicking back. Josh or Toby, or maybe Carol, had insisted that C.J. do "The Jackal", and as she moves to the music, Ron can't take his eyes off of her.  
  
He'd seen snippets of the performance before, but Ron had always been too busy to fully appreciate the performance. Now, standing impassively by the door, he plans to relish every movement.  
  
As she swings her hips and turns her head, C.J. notices Ron's eyes on her and pauses for the briefest moment before recovering. Meeting his gaze, she continues her interpretation of Ronnie Jordan, putting in a little extra oomph just for fun. Ron's expression doesn't change, but as the music ends, C.J. is sure that she sees him swallow. Accepting her drink back from Toby, she takes a swig before approaching Ron.  
  
As a Secret Service trainee, Ron had been taught how to control his breathing and heart rate in tense situations in order to keep his wits, and the instruction is coming in handy now. By the time C.J. reaches him, his pulse is almost back to normal. She smirks at him. He says nothing.  
  
The standoff continues for a few moments until C.J. decides to break the ice. "I didn't think Secret Service agents were allowed to enjoy themselves." She's still smirking, trying to provoke him.  
  
Maintaining his stoic expression, Ron considers his response carefully. Finally, he comments, "I'm only human, Claudia."  
  
She grins at this. "I always thought you guys were super- human." She pats his shoulder for a second and then turns and walks back into the crowd, swinging her hips.  
  
This seems like a good time to leave. Ron heads back to his office to collect his things. He's going to have a heck of a time sleeping tonight.  
  
~*~  
  
March 21, 2003 (the vernal equinox):  
  
"Ron?"  
  
She doesn't notice him striding from the Roosevelt Room until she's almost walked past him. When she calls his name, he halts in the doorway. The hall lights have been dimmed, but all of the lamps in the Roosevelt Room are turned on, and the contrast gives him an unearthly glow.  
  
"Good evening, C.J."  
  
The glow is appropriate, she thinks. Ron and his people are the reason she's so chipper despite being shot at twice in four years. Meeting his eyes, she smiles broadly. "Thank you."  
  
He doesn't smile back, exactly (she's still not sure if she's ever seen him smile), but something makes his face seem brighter for a second. "You're welcome."  
  
~*~  
  
Early May, 2003:  
  
He'd rather be anywhere but here. Or at least he'd rather be here for any other reason than the current one. As he waits at the door to C.J.'s office, he mentally replays his last conversation with the President and Leo. He suspects that President Bartlett's face at that moment will be etched into his memory for the rest of his life. Not a pleasant thought, and all he can do now is pray that that image isn't replaced by something much worse before this is over.  
  
"Ron, what do you have for me?" C.J.'s about to brief again, and he steps aside to allow her into her office. She looks exhausted, not surprisingly.  
  
Ron hands her a folder. "We've put out an ABP on the license plate for the van, so you'll want to include the number in your briefing." She nods. "Also, a few recent pictures of Zoey you'll want to pass around." He looks down for a second before continuing. "We reached Molly O'Connor's parents a half hour ago. You can go ahead and release her name."  
  
She looks up at him sharply then, and the faintest shadow crosses her face. He meets her eyes for a moment, and he can see her start to ask the question. He cuts her off, "Yes, I spoke to them."  
  
"I'm sorry," is all she can say, but then she straightens up. Ron is fully aware of what she's remembering and of her impulse to push it aside, to focus on nothing other than getting Zoey back safely.  
  
"Thank you," Ron responds quietly. He can't think about it now, and he retreats from her office.  
  
~*~  
  
Late in May, 2003:  
  
Ron had been opposed to this. A party in the White House residence thanking the Secret Service for Zoey's safe return. It hardly seemed appropriate, since they hadn't been able to prevent her abduction in the first place, but Abbey had been adamant that he and his agents attend. He stares down at his drink and wonders how long he has to stay.  
  
"You seem bored." C.J.'s moved next to him, beer in hand, and is regarding him quizzically.  
  
He's glad to see her. He's been thinking about her on and off since February, in the few spare moments that intersperse gunshots and kidnappings and the regular duties of protecting a President. "I'm not into large parties."  
  
"Even when you're the guest of honor?"  
  
"Especially then, and even more so when it's not deserved."  
  
C.J. turns and fixes him with her gaze. "Ron, you should stop beating yourself up. You got her back."  
  
"But I couldn't prevent it."  
  
"Because it was an act of madmen."  
  
He is surprised to see her throwing his words to Toby back in his face. "Yes, it was. Even so."  
  
With a sigh, C.J. realizes that she won't relieve his guilt in one evening. At the very least though, she can convince him to enjoy himself. Tugging his jacket, she grins. "Come on, dance with me."  
  
This is unexpected. "Excuse me?"  
  
C.J. tilts her head towards the center of the room, where the furniture has been moved away and several people are dancing to 50's and 60's rock songs. "Dance with me."  
  
For a few seconds, Ron regards her. For all that it feels strange and wrong to be a guest of the President's rather than his protector, he has to admit that the prospect of dancing with C.J. is not altogether unpleasant. And then his manners kick in. "I'd be delighted."  
  
Rolling her eyes slightly at his exaggerated graciousness, C.J. leads him to the center of the room, where, "Rock Around The Clock" is playing. Ron takes the lead and starts them into an easy jitterbug.  
  
For a minute, neither one speaks, enjoying the beat and the frivolity. But when Ron spins her out and back in, C.J. leans against him for a second. "You're a ringer."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"You're all stiff and starched up at work, but you know how to loosen up."  
  
At this, Ron grins - grins!- and spins her again. "C.J., my mother believed that there are certain skills that every young man should learn. I was forced to attend ballroom dance lessons for three years, and while I may have resented it at the time, when my friends were playing pickup football games, I'm quite grateful to her now."  
  
As the song comes to an end, C.J. laughs and gives him an exaggerated curtsey. "Thank you for the dance."  
  
He bows in response. "You're quite welcome." As C.J. crosses the room to find her drink, she glances back over her shoulder. He's still watching her, and the thought gives her a bit of a tingle. It's a party, and a little harmless flirting is certainly called for.  
  
~*~  
  
June, 2003:  
  
At the knock, C.J. looks up and swallows the rush of panic when she sees Ron standing in her doorway. He doesn't usually make unplanned visits to her office; the last time was for Zoey and the time before that was over a year ago, when . she shakes the thought off. "Ron, hi."  
  
"May I come in for a minute?" He seems very formal and a little nervous. This can't be good.  
  
"Uh, sure, yeah." Throwing aside her briefing memo, she's surprised to see him close the door and stand awkwardly in front of her desk. "Ron, what's wrong?"  
  
Her question seems to catch him off guard. "Wrong?"  
  
"You don't usually show up in my office in the middle of the day if everything is fine."  
  
The confusion only lasts a second before he realizes that she's scared. That's the last thing he wants. "C.J., there's nothing wrong. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to worry you. I'm not here on business."  
  
Her face relaxes considerably and her shoulders loosen. "Oh. OK, then. What's up?"  
  
He's been practicing this speech for the past few days, once he'd decided that he had nothing to lose by asking. "C.J., I was wondering if you might like to join me for dinner sometime."  
  
It's not often that she's lost for words. Blinking, it takes a second for her to process his question. Then, "Ron, did you just ask me out?"  
  
Still standing in front of her, back straight, hands clasped behind him, he nods. "Yes, I did."  
  
"Why?" It's probably not the most articulate or polite thing she could think of to say, but it's the best she can come up with right now, and she's genuinely curious.  
  
Ron tilts his head slightly, before responding, "Because I find you attractive, and I enjoy your company."  
  
She's taken aback by his honesty and then grins. Truth be told, that's the best reason she's heard in a long time, and it's rather charming. "When did you have in mind?"  
  
She's saying yes? Ron takes a deep breath and wills his heart rate to slow. "This Saturday, maybe?"  
  
With a nod, "I can do that." She picks up a pen and scrawls her address on a piece of paper. "Pick me up at 7:00."  
  
Now he's grinning, too. "O.K." As he turns to leave, he pauses at the door, and adds, sincerely, "I'm looking forward to it." As he leaves her office, he finds himself having difficulty controlling his racing pulse.  
  
~*~  
  
A few days later, Saturday night:  
  
They're holding hands, which seems almost quaint, but when Ron had shyly reached over to her as they'd walked through Georgetown, C.J. had found the gesture too charming to resist.  
  
"I had a good time tonight," she murmurs quietly. They'd talked about everything over dinner, not leaving the restaurant until the waiters had started turning up chairs on some of the other tables. Ron, she discovered, was attentive, polite, a real gentleman. And he had interests outside of his job; she'd listened with interest as he talked about his lifelong fascination with astronomy and admitted that he'd thought about becoming an astronaut before joining the Secret Service. As they'd strolled home that night, he had pointed out a few of the most visible constellations and directed her attention to Jupiter shining overhead.  
  
"So did I." Ron smiles at her now, and she remembers that she'd once wondered if he knew how to smile. No question of that now. As they reach the door to her apartment building, Ron continues, "I'd like to see you again."  
  
She's genuinely touched. "I'd like that, too."  
  
They pause at the entrance to her apartment, and she can see Ron swallow slightly and take a breath. Finally, he asks softly, "C.J., may I kiss you goodnight?"  
  
Really, he is exceedingly polite. C.J. can't remember the last time someone had asked permission before kissing her. With a slight blush, she glances away for a second before replying, "Yes, you may."  
  
He leans in slightly, brushing her cheek with his hand, and her eyes flutter closed before their lips meet. It's a chaste kiss, but it lingers slightly and her stomach is tingling when they move apart.  
  
"Nice," C.J. murmurs.  
  
Now, Ron blushes a bit. "Yes, it was." He gazes at her for a second more before murmuring, "Goodnight, C.J."  
  
Her heart fluttering, she watches him go before letting herself in to her apartment.  
  
~*~  
  
The following Monday:  
  
C.J. can't stop the smile from forming when Ron appears in her doorway. "You called earlier?"  
  
With a nod, C.J. replies, "Yeah. It wasn't anything important, I just wanted to thank you for these." She indicates the arrangement with her left hand. The flowers had been waiting in her office when she'd walked in that morning.  
  
"You're welcome," Ron replies softly, keeping his posture straight, a warm smile the only departure from his typical "at- work" demeanor.  
  
For a moment, they gaze at each other, and then Ron clears his throat. "I need to go brief the President on a few new measures."  
  
"I'll see you later," C.J. promises. A few seconds after Ron has left, Josh appears in her office, concern apparent on his face.  
  
"What was that about?"  
  
"Huh?"  
  
Josh's worry is also evident in his voice. "Ron was here. That's never good. What's the matter?"  
  
Swallowing the smile, C.J. shakes her head. "Nothing's wrong, Josh. I just had a quick question for Ron about something a reporter had wanted clarified." It is a reasonable lie; plenty of reporters had requested details on Zoey's rescue over the last few weeks.  
  
Her answer appears to calm Josh. "Oh. That's it? Nothing serious?"  
  
"Nope." Not yet, anyway, she thinks. It's too soon to be serious, but she can definitely see things going that way.  
  
~*~  
  
July, 2003:  
  
Ron walks over to the passenger side and opens the car door, helping C.J. out. "It's a great night for this; it's perfectly clear. I think we'll have a good show."  
  
C.J. smiles at his enthusiasm. When he'd told her earlier in the week that a large meteor shower would be visible tonight, she'd jumped at the chance to join him. For his part, Ron is thrilled that he can enjoy this with her. This plateau in Virginia is his favorite viewing area, and he hopes she'll find as much beauty in the display as he does.  
  
Leaning against the car, he wraps his arms around her waist and pulls her close to him, so that her back is partially leaned against his chest. "It should start in a few minutes. At its peak, there will be one every five or six seconds."  
  
C.J. nods and settles against him. For a few minutes, they don't say anything, and then a flash streaks across the sky. "That was one," Ron murmurs into her hair.  
  
A few more zip through the darkness. "Really something," C.J. comments. Her head is tilted up to the sky, and she seems mesmerized by the view.  
  
Over the next hour, hundreds of meteors whiz through the sky, and they both stare with rapt attention at the display. Occasionally, Ron turns his head to observe C.J., and is moved by her obvious delight at the show.  
  
When the frequency between meteors has decreased again, C.J. turns around to face him, wrapping her arms behind his back. "Ron, that was beautiful."  
  
"I'm glad you enjoyed it." He is a very private person and doesn't share this part of himself with many people. That C.J. appreciated it means everything.  
  
She reaches up to stroke his cheek. "Thank you for sharing this with me." She leans in, and as she kisses him, his heart is racing, and he doesn't even try to control it.  
  
~*~  
  
September, 2003:  
  
They're holding hands again. All night, throughout dinner and at the symphony, there had been long gazes, intense silences, and prolonged touches. Outside her apartment door, C.J. pulls Ron close again and kisses him gently.  
  
After a second, Ron pulls away and meets her eyes. "Thank you for a wonderful evening, C.J.," he murmurs, bringing her hand to his lips.  
  
Now or never, she thinks. "Ron?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Would you like to come in?"  
  
He seems stunned for a second. "C.J.-"  
  
With one finger over his lips, she shushes him. Her voice is a bit shaky. "Ron, I'd really like it if you spent the night."  
  
Eyes widening, Ron leans in again for another kiss before asking, quietly, tenderly, "Are you sure?"  
  
God, yes, she thinks. It's been three months. She hasn't waited this long to go to bed with a man since she was in college. Ron, of course, has never pushed her. It's refreshing, but she feels they've both waited long enough. To Ron, she simply replies, "Yes, I'm sure."  
  
He kisses her again, more deeply this time, and whispers, "Open the door." As she turns the key in the lock, she can't stop trembling.  
  
~*~  
  
15 minutes later:  
  
His shirt falls to the ground as they pass through the doorway to her bedroom, pressed up against each other. C.J.'s hands are moving over his arms while he works down the zipper on her skirt. It's been a long time since he's done this with anyone, but he's not nervous. Incredibly excited, emotional even, but not nervous. He runs his hands through her hair and kisses her again: deep, firm kisses that he hopes convey how much of himself he's prepared to give her right now.  
  
It doesn't take them long to lose the rest of their clothing, and he lifts her up and lays her down on the bed, because, well, it's the proper thing to do.  
  
"God, you're beautiful," he murmurs, settling on top of her. C.J.'s response is to moan his name and reach for his hands. As their fingers intertwine, he enters her slowly, and they begin to kiss again, the emotion of the moment overtaking both of them.  
  
~*~  
  
The next morning:  
  
She likes him this way, C.J. decides: standing in the doorway of her kitchen, tired, rumpled, wearing nothing but a pair of navy flannel boxers. It's incredibly sexy.  
  
"Good morning," she starts, and as they lock eyes, images of the night before flood her mind. The powers of observation that Ron acquired during his Secret Service training come in handy in other venues, as well. As a lover, he is considerate and thorough. The first time had been slow and gentle, with Ron taking the time to learn her body and study her responses. Later that night he'd put his education to good use, stimulating her to the point where she was screaming his name.  
  
"I made coffee," she continues, walking over to him with a full cup. Ron accepts the cup silently, letting his eyes say everything he can't yet articulate. Seeing her in ecstasy last night had been the most erotic thing he'd ever experienced, but falling asleep with C.J. in his arms had been the sweetest.  
  
Fumbling through her refrigerator, she pulls out milk and orange juice and places them on the counter before turning back to him. He's still staring, almost awestruck, and she grins. "Cat got your tongue?"  
  
That does it. Setting down his coffee, he walks over to C.J. and wraps her in his arms, kissing her gently for a good two minutes. When they finally part for breath, he lifts her into his arms and makes his way back to her bedroom.  
  
~*~  
  
October, 2003:  
  
They have about five minutes until they'll be late for work. With one arm in her blazer, C.J. fumbles her way into her shoes, while Ron quickly straps on his holster and reaches for his coat.  
  
Grabbing her briefcase, she quickly chugs the orange juice Ron had poured for her. "You almost ready?"  
  
"Yes." He's devoured a piece of toast and is wiping the crumbs away while they both race for the door.  
  
They stumble into each other slightly in the doorway, and pause for a minute as he steadies her shoulders. C.J.'s laughing now, and as Ron looks at her, the need to tell her right now is overwhelming.  
  
"I love you."  
  
Dumbstruck, C.J. stops laughing and stares at him. He continues, "I mean it C.J., and it's from my heart. I love you. This isn't how I planned to tell you, but-"  
  
He's interrupted by C.J. pushing him up against the doorframe and kissing him passionately. "I love you, too, you lunatic."  
  
He's breathless, and she plunges ahead, "I'll happily show you just how much later, but if we don't leave right now, I'm going to have to tell Leo that I was late because I was pledging my undying devotion to you, so..."  
  
"Let's go," he agrees, closing the door and leading her to his car. He's going to have to settle down before they get to the White House; it won't do to have the head of the President's detail grinning like an idiot all day.  
  
~*~  
  
November, 2003:  
  
"Good evening, Mr. President."  
  
"Ah, Ron, come in." President Bartlet waves his hand and Ron steps through the door to the Oval Office.  
  
"Sir, I have the report you requested. Last month, we received five credible threats. The perpetrators were located, questioned, detained and charged. Three were mentally unstable, one had a prior record and the last one was a 16-year-old kid who didn't realize that it was illegal."  
  
The President grabs the report and sets it aside, "Thank you, Ron, I'll look at this later tonight. Please, have a seat."  
  
Ron settles nervously on one of the couches. He'd suspected that the President wanted more than the report. His appearance last night with C.J. at the state dinner for the British Prime Minister had no doubt caused a stir. It had been their first official appearance as a couple and their relationship had been news to the President, his staff and the media. C.J. had told him that she'd spent half of the first briefing reminding the press that the White House doesn't comment on personal lives. For his part, he'd taken a good deal of ribbing from fellow agents. He returns his attention to the present, as President Bartlet begins, "So, I couldn't help noticing how cozy you and my Press Secretary looked last night."  
  
"Yes, sir." Ron isn't going to offer more than is asked.  
  
"How long has this been going on?"  
  
"Since June, Mr. President."  
  
President Bartlet nods. "O.K. Look Ron, I think you're a good man, but I feel it necessary to remind you that I think of C.J. as another daughter. I will not look kindly on anyone that hurts her."  
  
Ron looks up and meets the President's stern gaze. "Neither will I, Mr. President."  
  
It's a forceful response that gives the President pause. For a minute, he regards Ron quietly, and Ron stares back, subjecting himself to the President's assessment. Finally, the President asks, "Do you love her?"  
  
"Yes, sir." It's immediate and with total conviction.  
  
"Does she know?"  
  
"Yes, sir." He'd spent most of that day forcing himself not to walk on air and maintain his traditional serious demeanor. When C.J. had returned home that night, he'd immediately pulled her to him, and they'd spent the next few hours making love on the floor of his living room and whispering everything they'd been holding in over the last few weeks.  
  
"Ron," the President's voice cut into his reverie, "it's been a long day. You should go home." President Bartlet is regarding him with respect and approval, and Ron stands up and makes his way to the door.  
  
"Thank you, Mr. President."  
  
~*~  
  
April, 2004:  
  
He's been staring at the door to his apartment for the past fifteen minutes. C.J. will be home shortly, and everything's all set: music flowers, dinner ordered from her favorite restaurant. I didn't take him long to put everything together, and now he's staring at the door wondering how his life will change after tonight.  
  
He's been contemplating this for months, and it took him a while to reach a final decision. In the end, it was the doorway that finally helped him reach the conclusion. As Ron pats the box in his pocket, he smiles in memory. Every time he looks at the door, all he can think about is carrying C.J. over the threshold.  
  
END 


End file.
